


The Point of No Return

by TooSel



Category: Suits (US TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Fix-It, Introspection, Love Confessions, M/M, Post Season 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 05:59:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17461928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TooSel/pseuds/TooSel
Summary: Seattle is fine. Seattle is… not New York.It’s fine.Honestly.





	The Point of No Return

The cool morning air hits his face as he cycles at full speed, probably too fast, the fresh wind tousling his hair and making his eyes water. Mike blinks against the strain, pedaling faster until his surroundings blur into a whirl of green and grey.

He’s on his way to work. He’s early, he’s got time, but one can never know what traffic is going to be like.

Rachel still laughs at him for having acquired a bike again. It was his first purchase after they moved, which, apparently, was a highly amusing choice or something.

She laughed when he announced he was going to ride it to work, too.

“If you think we’re going to the office together like this, you’ll have to think again,” she said, giving him an indulgent smile. “You can do whatever you like, but I’m not riding a bike.”

Mike doesn’t mind. He likes the twenty minutes of fresh air and exercise to wake him up in the morning and clear his mind after a long day. He likes the time to himself.

He likes having something familiar to hang on to.

They moved to Seattle a few months ago now, long enough for them to not be considered strangers anymore. Not nearly long enough for Mike to stop feeling like one.

He brakes sharply when the traffic light in front of him switches to red, feeling the beating of his own heart as he comes to an abrupt halt. He looks around as he waits, almost compulsory, a reflex he can’t fight. He can’t help it, every time he’s outside he’s searching, his eyes moving over his surroundings again and again like he’s looking for something he just can’t seem to find.

He can’t pinpoint it exactly. There’s a lot he’s used to that is not here, a lot that he always expects to find in the split second between looking and seeing, between habit taking over and memory kicking in to remind him that he’s no longer in New York.

It’s not like he could actually forget that.

It’s a whole other city after all. It’s not at all like home. Like his previous home, of course.

None of the familiar street corners he used to pass every morning. A different skyline greeting him every time he lets his eyes wander. None of the skyscrapers he’s gotten so intimately familiar with, towering on the fiftieth floor across the city that never sleeps and never stops while he too didn’t sleep and didn’t stop and loved every second of it. None of the busy, hustling people, vibrant and harsh and soft at the same time, rude and kind and so desperately intriguing, so full of stories to learn, strange and intimately familiar and full to the brim with life, and-

Minor details.

Seattle is not all that different from New York, really.

Mike knew his way around fairly quickly after moving here. Knew exactly where everything was and… wasn’t.

It’s just smaller. A lot smaller. Beautiful, though. Lots of outdoor recreation and that sort of thing, not that Mike has much time to make use of it. Less people, so it’s calmer, too.

Less interesting people, in the grand scheme of things. Bit boring, if he’s honest. Rather quiet, overall.

But it’s fine. There’s green outside, and lots of interesting bookstores, so Mike will never run out of places to stroll through and things to read, and that counts for something, right?

So Seattle is fine. Seattle is… not New York.

It’s fine.

Honestly.

*

Mike gets to work way too early. He’s usually one of the first around, but he likes it that way, likes having some peace and quiet before the office awakens and it’s back to the usual chaos. It’s a young firm, still looking for its flow, and things don’t tend to work as smoothly as Mike was promised when he was offered this position.

Of course, nothing is ever as good as it seems.

It’s not bad. It’s good work. They’re doing good.

Just… not as much as Mike thought they would. Not in the way he expected.

Andy is already waiting for him in his office. Mike suppresses a sigh; he should have known this was going to happen, he may get here early but Andy never seems to leave, and it is the big day after all.

Well, this week’s big day, that is.

“Morning,” Andy greets him brightly. Mike flashes him a smile.

“Morning. Up and running already, I see?”

“You know me. There’s always something to do.”

Mike unbuttons his jacket and sits down. “Then why are you in my office?”

“You know why.”

“And you know my answer.”

Andy’s eyes drop to the desk he is leaning against. He picks up a pen, slowly, deliberately, like he is lost in thought and yet knows exactly what he is doing, how each of his measured movements is coming across.

He’s always deliberate in everything he does.

Mike used to think it was a sign of strength. Now he’s not sure what it’s a sign of anymore.

“You know I became aware of you because of your interview, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

He’s told him often enough.

“It was riveting. Did just what it was supposed to, attract attention. Opportunities.”

Not exactly the reason Mike gave it, but he gives a curt nod, waiting for the inevitable follow-up.

“I mean, it did capture _my_ attention. It made me bring you to my firm. Imagine where we would be if I hadn’t!”

Well, Andy would still be in this office, probably pestering someone else about getting cozy with the press. As for Mike…

He would never have left. He’d still be in New York, working at Specter Litt – Zane Specter Litt now, of course – working with _Harvey_ , and-

He doesn’t quite understand how that’s a bad thing.

Andy stops his pretense when Mike doesn’t respond to it, putting the pen down with a deep breath. Mike displeased him again, he can tell.

He just doesn’t really care.

“You sure you don’t wanna join me?” Andy asks.

Mike gives him a tight smile. “I’m good.”

Another sigh. “Shame. You’re so good with the press. There’s endless potential.”

He rises and leaves before Mike can ask what for, exactly.

That’s the thing about Andy, about this whole firm. Mike has so much to give, but he feels like what he can offer isn’t what Andy is after, what he keeps asking him for.

He never stops asking.

Mike impatiently shakes his head, trying to get himself to focus on the task before him. That’s what he’s here for, the only thing that matters. The work.

It’s good work. Important work.

Work that attracts a lot of press, apparently.

Like, a _lot_.

Not that there’s anything wrong with talking about what they’re doing, on the contrary. A lot of their investors have found them that way.

It’s just not what he imagined when he accepted the job.

Of course, a firm like theirs needs support from influential people. Depends on it. That’s not what his issue is. Sometimes it just feels like Andy’s priorities are the wrong way around; like he’s doing the work for the press, not the press for the work.

Which, okay, fair enough. He’s doing something good, he can get all the applause he likes for it.

But Mike doesn’t want to be part of that. He’s here to help people, not to make people like him. At least that’s what he thought when he agreed to take this job.

Andy seemed to have a different idea about that, though.

He asks several of his employees to join him for interviews, so it’s not like he’s the only one, but it just so happens that he asks Mike the most. And at first he thought it was because he kept declining, but Andy stayed so adamant that it didn’t take long for Mike to understand how exactly he fits into this firm.

He refused every invitation on principle after that.

Andy just keeps on asking, though. And Mike doesn’t really know how to deal with it.

Rachel has settled in much better than him. She’s even giving the occasional interview, often joining Andy in front of the camera too, settling into her role as the beautiful face of the firm with ease.

Mike doesn’t blame her. He’s done the same before, he grants her the recognition she so clearly enjoys.

He just can’t bring himself to do the same.

It bothers him. He doesn’t know why.

It shouldn’t matter. Who cares why someone is helping others as long as they are helping?

It shouldn’t matter. It really, really shouldn’t.

*

“It doesn’t matter,” Rachel says when he brings it up.

“I know,” Mike tells her.

She’s right. They are helping so many people. They’re doing good. Making the world a better place one interview at a time.

In the end it makes no difference. The reasons are inconsequential, of no significance at all as long as they are helping.

And they _are_ helping.

Of course it shouldn’t matter.

It still does, though.

Mike could try to explain, try telling her about Andy and how he feels about him, about the way the firm is run. He knows she would listen. She would try to understand.

He doesn’t.

They continue working side by side.

He picks up his phone when she leaves the room. He has already scrolled down his contacts when he stops.

Harvey’s name used to be right there on the top of his most called list. It’s not anymore.

Whose fault is that?

Things have been different since he left. The firm. New York. Him.

Some things haven’t, though. Mike has a problem, and all he wants to do is talk to him. They haven’t done so in a while, as his phone is happy to remind him.

He still wants to call him.

He doesn’t know if Harvey would understand what his problem is. He doesn’t even know if he would agree with him.

It doesn’t matter if he would.

He just wants to call him.

Mike stares at his phone, at the name that disappeared from the top of the list, and he doesn’t.

*

Work is a good distraction from, well, work.

Diving headfirst into the cases makes him feel like he can make up at least a little for everything that’s going wrong at the firm, and it’s what he’s here for after all, so he does just that and determinedly ignores everything else.

Andy is already lurking around the corner with the next interview he wants him to give, but Mike avoids him whenever he can. He’s got no time right now anyway.

The case he’s working on needs his full attention. It’s sensitive. Of high priority.

He wanted to have this case. He fought for it.

For no specific reason did he want it so badly.

He guesses there’s just something about the client that resonated with him. He doesn’t deserve the hellish divorce his wife is putting him through after he left her for another man.

It’s not his fault that he fell out of love. It’s not his fault that he fell in love again with someone else.

Mike sits in his office for a long time after their first meeting, ignoring all his responsibilities to stare ahead and suck in his lip until he tastes copper.

He reaches for his phone, thoughtlessly, turning it over and over in his hand. He doesn’t unlock it. He doesn’t check the top of the list. He doesn’t need to in order to know that Harvey’s name is not there.

It bothers him way too much.

Eventually he puts the phone down, returning his attention to the other dozen cases he has on his plate that are waiting to be closed.

Despite his workload, Mike finds his thoughts returning to the divorce again and again, even when he’s talking to another client or sitting over the dinner Rachel left him on the stove.

The case is a tough one. It’s important. It keeps Mike up at night and late at the office until Rachel asks what it is that’s occupying him this much.

“It’s like you’re barely there, even when you are,” she says, and her voice is teasing, but there is something resonating in it that sticks in Mike’s craw.

He doesn’t tell her what’s on his mind.

He’s not sure why.

He’s not sure about much these days, really.

He finds himself sitting there with his phone in hand time and time again, never calling but always wanting to. Desperately. He’s not sure why he doesn’t. Why he can’t seem to.

So maybe the work isn’t like he thought it would be.

So maybe being married isn’t either.

Things just have a tendency to not be like he expected. Which is fine. Life isn’t a fairytale, that’s what Harvey always used to tell him, what he still doesn’t seem to have learned despite everything that’s happened to him. It just is what it is. He’s adapting.

Maybe not as well as he should be. But that is no one’s business but his own. Not Andy’s. Not Rachel’s. No one’s.

It’s fine, really. It’s just a feeling. He’s dealing with it. It’s all good.

In the meantime, work is still a good distraction from work. And… other things.

It’s all good. If Mike doesn’t have time to think about it, then there’s nothing to think about, is there?

*

Tuesday night. Mike’s phone rings. He’s still at the office, reading through precedents for his case. Rachel went home a while ago, and it’s her name he expects to find on the screen when he picks it up.

It’s not Rachel. It’s Harvey.

Mike only freezes for the span of a heartbeat before he gets himself to move and takes the call. His hand is just slightly unsteady, like it doesn’t remember the motions.

His mouth, however, does.

“Look what the cat dragged in.”

Harvey chuckles lowly. His voice is so very, very familiar. It hits Mike like a gut punch.

“Hey, Mike.”

His words stick in his throat. “Hi, Harvey.”

“How are you?”

Good fucking question.

Mike swivels his chair, staring out of his window at the view outside. It’s dark already, long after the sun set. Harvey probably waited until now to call in hopes of catching him outside the office. Maybe he worked late too but finished up a while ago, unlike Mike who is still a long way from going home.

It’s nothing compared to the view he had in New York. The view Harvey must be having right now, is probably looking at while he’s talking to him. If he shuts his eyes, he can almost see it.

“I’m great, yeah. Drowning in work a bit, but otherwise…”

“Like you didn’t want it that way.”

Mike smiles wryly. “Guess that’s what I came here for, right? So I can’t complain.”

“Oh, come on now. Remember that I’ve worked with you for several years. I know you can complain about anything.”

A genuine chuckle escapes him. The sound hurts only a little.

“Alright, you dick. Is that why you called? Just to remind me of my shortcomings?”

Harvey makes an amused sound. “You, admitting to having any of those? Am I talking to the right Mike Ross?”

“I know you wanted another you when you hired me, but we aren’t _that_ alike. I think you’re confusing me with yourself.”

“Yeah, right.” Harvey’s voice is gentle, just the tiniest bit hesitant when he adds, “No, actually, I just wanted to talk to you. Catch up a little.”

Weird, that.

Maybe Mike is reading too much into it. Harvey is never hesitant. Why would he be now? He probably doesn’t even think about the fact that it’s been three months and two weeks since they last talked. He probably doesn’t care. Why should he?

Why should Mike?

“Right.” Mike resist clearing his throat. “So how are you?”

He hopes Harvey doesn’t pick up on the fact that he more or less avoided giving him an actual answer, and maybe he doesn’t, or maybe he’s just kind enough not to point it out because all he says is, “I’m good, yeah. Same as you, though. Being managing partner doesn’t get any easier over time.”

“Is that a complaint I’m hearing? What happened to ‘life is this, I like this’?” Mike teases, somehow managing to keep the tightness of his chest at the memory out of his voice. That was so long ago. So much has happened since then. So much has changed.

“I never said I’m complaining. It’s just not all sunshine and rainbows, as you’ll probably have heard from your father-in-law.”

Mike huffs. “Yeah, here neither.”

It’s the perfect opening. _Actually, speaking of rainbows… there’s this case I’m working on, I’ve been meaning to tell you about it for days now… I’m really having trouble letting go of this and I don’t know why…_

The words won’t come. They never seem to.

“But otherwise you’re good?” he asks instead, and he tells himself it doesn’t sting when Harvey agrees, “Yeah, I am.”

“Good. That’s good to hear.”

It is. And it isn’t.

Mike rubs his temple. He’s getting a headache.

“It’s basically the same old, same old around here,” Harvey continues. “Just that I don’t have an annoying lippy ex-con following me around trying to make my life a living hell.”

Is he imagining it, or does Harvey sound wistful beneath the teasing tone of his voice?

“Like you don’t miss having me around,” he shoots back, desperate to hear him say it.

Harvey just huffs out a quiet laugh. It doesn’t tell him much.

Mike bites his lip in the beat of silence that follows.

“So what’s happening at the firm? How’s everyone doing?”

“Everyone’s fine. Louis and Sheila are serious again, and surprisingly enough it hasn’t gone up in flames yet.”

“Your faith in Louis is staggering.”

“Oh, come on. I know you’re thinking the same thing. Let me see… oh, Donna has a new boyfriend and is making sure to let everyone know just how great she’s doing. Which is fair enough. She deserves it.”

“Can’t argue with that.”

“Gretchen’s been taking Spanish lessons and is now talking to our international clients like she owns the place, which I also can’t really blame her for. At least she manages to keep them in check. Alex has this new case…”

Mike closes his eyes as he listens to Harvey telling him about everyone he left behind, letting his voice wash over him. It aches and soothes him at the same time, and there is absolutely no reason for either of that, so he bites his lip to keep all of it inside, to push it back so far down that even he can’t find it anymore.

They’re just talking, like they used to. A steady flow, easy banter, catching up on what they’ve been missing out on.

It’s all good. It’s all like it used to be, only that Mike is here, and Harvey is so very far away.

All good.

Almost the same thing. Almost like nothing changed.

It did, though.

“Listen, I have to go.”

What did he say that for?

They only just started talking. There is so much more that Mike wants to say. So much he wants to tell him, so much he wants to hear from Harvey before they say goodbye.

He doesn’t want this call to end. He never wants this call to end and thus has to end it immediately, has to get away from Harvey because there’s no way to be as close to him as he really wants.

What a wicked game this is. He never agreed to playing it.

How messed up, that he’s the one who started it.

“Of course,” Harvey says at once, and Mike wonders if he imagines the resignation resonating in the words. If the disappointment wrapping around him is Harvey’s or his own. “I won’t keep you.”

“You’re not,” Mike assures him. “And- Harvey? It was good hearing from you.”

It was. It was more than good, and it was terrible, and he can’t end the call without letting Harvey know how glad he is that he did what Mike couldn’t and dialed his number.

“Yeah, it was good hearing from you too. Call me sometime when you’re free, won’t you? Or just when you want to tell me something. You can call whenever, Mike. I’m always happy to talk to you.”

Mike has to swallow twice before he can get his voice to work. “You think I ever get free time here?” he jokes. Harvey chuckles.

“After working under me, you should be able to deal with anything.”

“True that,” Mike concedes, then adds, more softly, “I’ll be in touch.”

“Good.” There’s a slight pause before Harvey says, “Goodbye, Mike.”

Mike clears his throat. “Bye, Harvey.”

There’s silence. He lowers his phone, just looking at Harvey’s name as the seconds tick by, not moving.

Harvey is the one to hang up. Mike stares at the screen until it dims and finally goes black, wondering why it’s so hard to breathe all of a sudden.

It’s all good. This is what he wanted; to talk to Harvey, to hear from him again. Break the silence that somehow wormed its way between them.

This is so not what he wanted.

Hearing Harvey’s voice was somehow worse than not talking to him for weeks, worse than all the months Mike has spent here being unhappy, doubting himself, his choices, and he didn’t want to feel worse, he wanted comfort or reassurance or even just a hint of validation that what he did wasn’t a terrible mistake. He wants to stop feeling like he’s missing a vital part of himself, stop looking for it in a condo high in the sky in Manhattan with the most beautiful view in the city.

He wants-

He presses his palms against his thighs, trying to steady himself against the sensation gripping him so tightly that he feels paralyzed.

Mike sucks in a sharp breath, forcing air into his lungs for so long that the pit in his stomach has no choice but to recede.

It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. He’s fine.

He’s totally fine.

He continues breathing deeply until he can almost do so freely again.

*

It’s not rarely that both Rachel and he have an open file on the table at dinner, provided that they’re having it together. They tried not to make a habit of it when they first started out at the firm, promising each other to take that time for themselves.

It didn’t last, of course. One exception became one exception for each of them, then one per week, then two, and in the end they realized that if they wanted to eat together at all, they would have to do it like this and give up any conversation for companionable silence.

If he is honest, Mike doesn’t miss it all that much anyway.

They are having dinner now, with Rachel reading a file in between eating the occasional spoon. Mike is not, but his thoughts are still elsewhere, and so he doesn’t just not mind the quiet, but appreciates it.

That is until Rachel closes her file, waits all of thirty seconds before the prolonged silence gets too much for her, and turns her attention on him instead.

“What’s up with you, Mike?”

“What do you mean?” he asks, trying not to sound too annoyed by the intrusive question. “Nothing’s up.”

She ignores him, instead giving him a scrutinizing look. “Is it your gay case?”

Mike nearly chokes on his soup. “What?”

“Something’s on your mind, Mike. I can tell. It’s the case, isn’t it?”

Taking another spoon from his plate doesn’t take nearly enough time for her to forget she asked him a question, nor for him to figure out an innocuous answer.

“Yeah,” he admits, pushing the contents of his plate around. They’re still steaming.

She nods and goes back to her dinner.

“It’s terrible, isn’t it?”

What’s terrible? The divorce? The situation? The fact that his client fell in love with a man?

“It wasn’t his fault,” Mike says. The soup is too hot. It burns his tongue. “His wife didn’t have to put him through all this. She could have ended things without starting a war. She didn’t need to try and ruin him.”

“No,” she agrees. “But can you blame her for being hurt?”

Mike halts with his spoon mid-air.

“I blame her for lashing out like this,” he eventually says.

“Of course,” she says. “Her reaction is no one’s fault but her own, and I’m not saying that I approve of her choices. I just mean, it’s a complicated situation.”

“It always is, when one person falls in love with someone else.”

They fall silent after that. Mike is almost afraid to ask what Rachel is thinking about.

“She really didn’t know?” she eventually breaks the silence.

Why is she still talking about this?

Mike could ask her what she means. He knows, though.

“I guess he made sure that she didn’t. Or she just didn’t want to see it. That’s the thing with straight people, they never expect others not to be like them.”

His heart is hammering in his throat for some reason. Rachel, on the other hand, just nods.

“I’d want to know,” she then says.

Mike swallows. The soup is clogging his throat. It’s hot and too spicy and makes his eyes water even though he waited before he ate it.

“It wouldn’t have changed anything,” he gets out despite it. “He still would have fallen for someone else in the end, whether she knew about him or not. He didn’t keep it from her to betray her or anything. He loved her. He just loved him more. He can’t change that.”

“No,” Rachel agrees. “But I’d still want to know.”

All the air leaves Mike’s lungs. His face is burning, his cheeks hot, his throat constricting, his knuckles white where he’s clutching the spoon in his hand.

It’s a funny thing, the truth. They’re making a living trying to figure it out and then hiding it again, always caught between the two, trying to find out which option is best.

Mike has yet to, if he’s honest.

“Rachel-“

She looks at him, and there’s something in her eyes that he can’t tell if it makes him want to keep talking or shut up. The words are stuck in his throat either way, words even he can’t fathom yet. They will neither come nor dissolve, cutting off his air supply like a physical block, and Mike sits there helplessly, stuck between the mixed signals his own body is giving him and the weight of Rachel’s alert eyes.

She’s still looking at him, like she knows too much even though she knows nothing at all, and it takes all the strength he can muster to force down the lump in his throat.

Swallowing roughly, Mike gets out, “Can you pass me the salt?”

The whole truth and nothing but.

It’s a goddamn joke. He stopped feeling like laughing a long time ago.

Rachel passes him the salt.

They finish their dinner in silence.

*

His dedication to the cause pays off. Mike manages to turn things around in their favor, and it feels better than any win he’s had before when he sees his client’s expression at the verdict, matched by that of his partner, holding his hand tightly.

“I don’t know how to thank you for this,” he tells him after the trial, his cheeks still flushed, relief written in every line of his face.

“You don’t have to,” Mike says, a small smile on his lips. “Just seeing how happy you are is enough.”

“I am, yeah.” His eyes fall on his partner, discreetly waiting a few steps away. The warmth in his eyes is almost palpable. “Seriously, I can’t thank you enough.”

“You are very, very welcome.”

The client smiles too, then takes a deep breath, his shoulders sagging as he closes his eyes.

“Hey,” Mike says. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, just… it’s over. I can finally put this part of my life to rest and move on. I just… that hasn’t quite sunk in yet.”

“Start believing it,” Mike tells him, squeezing his arm.

He nods, opening his mouth before he hesitates. “I’m… it’s bittersweet, you know? You probably don’t, all things considered, but… are you married?”

Mike clears his throat. “Yeah.”

“Then you’ll understand what it feels like to love someone this much. Even if it’s not the person you married. And you’ll understand what a big step it is to make the decision to leave the one you promised to stay committed to for the rest of your life.”

Mike nods mutely. His client sighs, looking down.

“You love her.”

“I do. Even after all this. I can’t exactly blame her for taking it badly.”

Mike presses his lips together. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“That I fell in love with someone else? No. Doesn’t matter whether it’s a man or a woman. But I should have told her sooner. I knew, for a long, long time before I ever even said it out loud. I should have.”

Mike swallows.

“You didn’t wanna hurt her. I don’t think anyone can blame you for that.”

“No, I didn’t want to. But I still did. I hurt both of us. And that’s something I still have to make peace with before I can start over.”

It’s hot in the halls of the courthouse. Mike shifts his weight. The smile on his face feels only half genuine.

“Well, this is the first step in the right direction. And I wish you and Simon all the luck in the world.”

“Thank you.” He gives him a grateful smile that’s only a tad sad around the edges. “And for you as well, Mike.”

Mike nods, the smile slipping from his face as he watches the two men step next to each other, lacing their hands together before they start walking away.

_It’s bittersweet, you know? You probably don’t._

He probably does, though.

More than he would like to admit.

*

Things come to a head quietly, without much preamble.

Mike tries going on, to his credit. He really tries. He picks himself up every morning and drags himself to an office he doesn’t want to go to only to come home to a place that still feels foreign and cold, an estranged wife, and the nagging sensation in his stomach whispering to him that all of this is wrong.

It’s a bleaker routine than he’s had in years, since before he met Harvey, and it takes him all the effort he can muster to just live his life day after day.

It’s a quiet Saturday afternoon when he realizes that it shouldn’t be this hard fucking work.

He looks up from his files about a stupid publicity case and looks at Rachel across the table brooding over her own work in the apartment he calls home only on paper, and he knows that he can’t take this anymore.

“Rachel.”

She looks up, her eyes unfocused before she really listens, and he waits until she’s alert, taking in the last moment of relative peace in his marriage before he asks, “Are you happy?”

Rachel blinks at him, her eyebrows lifting. She didn’t expect the question, he can tell, didn’t see it coming.

He can also tell that she isn’t as surprised by it as she should be.

She closes her folder, sits up. This is going to be a longer conversation. This is serious.

“Aren’t you?”

It’s not an answer, and he knows that she knows what he’s going to say before she even poses the question. It’s brave of her, that she does anyway.

He looks at her, and she looks back, so much compassion and understanding in her eyes. No wonder he fell for her. No wonder he thought this was going to be it.

So why isn’t it?

Why aren’t they happy?

Eventually she lets out a deep breath. “Mike.”

He nods. He knows. He understands.

“It’s not how we thought it would be, is it?”

“No,” she agrees, the familiar crease he’s grown too used to appearing on her forehead. “But it’s still good.”

Is it? Is this good?

Good enough?

“Are you happy with me?” Mike rephrases his question.

It’s just a small modification. It takes the wind out of her sails.

Her shoulders slump. “I love you.”

It’s still not an answer.

When did they stop really talking to each other?

Why didn’t they notice sooner? Why didn’t they do anything about it?

Could they _have_ done anything about it? Could they have prevented this?

“I love you too. But it’s not right.”

Rachel puts her hands on the table, looking away.

They didn’t stop talking to each other, Mike realizes. They just started doing so differently. He can no longer turn a blind eye to it, pretending that he doesn’t know what it means.

“This isn’t working out, is it?”

Rachel presses her lips together, her defiance overpowering what she must already know to be true. “It can, if we want it to.”

“Do we want it to?”

When she says nothing, Mike shakes his head. “I wanted to be happy with you. I wanted you to be happy with me.” He takes a sharp breath. “But neither of us is. And I think we deserve to be, you and me. I just don’t think it’s going to be together.”

How strange it feels, to finally put into words what he’s known in his heart for so long.

Rachel swallows and tilts her head, the smile on her lips wavering with the magnitude of her emotions. This is it, and she knows it as well as he does.

“No,” she agrees, and Mike admires her for managing to keep them out of her voice, to keep it firm and strong. “I don’t think so either.”

She gets to her feet, and Mike watches her walk up to him, cupping his face before she leans in to give him one final kiss. He lets her, unable to do anything but sit and allow the conflicting emotions the touch brings over him to get their pound of flesh.

The kiss is neither shallow nor deep, not short and not prolonged either. It just is, soft and bittersweet and monumental in its finality.

It seems to cost Rachel a world of effort to tear herself away, but she does. And just like that, it’s over.

They’re over.

The thought hurts. It also allows Mike to breathe freely for the first time in months, maybe even longer.

He never thought it could feel so liberating to stand in the ruins of what they once thought they’d have.

He takes a moment to consider this new reality, the new world he is going to wake up in tomorrow morning and call his own from now on.

There is nothing else to do.

Rachel takes a few steps, bringing some distance between them to sit on the sofa. He doesn’t join her, doesn’t even look up.

He thinks he can hear her crying, but he can’t find it in himself to comfort her, to move as much as an inch from the safe space he has built around himself, the cocoon in which he doesn’t fall apart.

It’s curious, how much a person can feel at once and still be completely blank. How all the dreams they had and the promises they made amounted to nothing more than silent crying in a living room that isn’t going to be theirs for much longer.

Maybe the world really does end with a whimper.

After all the bangs he lived through so far, it’s surprisingly deafening.

*

As long as it took to reach the point of no return, as quick are things to fall apart for good now. Mike’s bags are packed in no time. His notice is on Andy’s desk by Monday. There is nothing to do but march on and hope that the knowledge of doing what’s right is going to ease the pain in time.

It doesn’t hurt as much as Mike thought it would. As much as it probably should. He thinks he’s going to be okay, they both will.

There’s no question about where it’s going to take him next. He doesn’t know if Rachel is going to come back too or stay behind, go on with the new life they started here on her own, but for him there’s not even a choice.

He takes the next flight to New York the same night he walks out of the firm for the last time without a look back. He hugs Rachel goodbye, promises her to be in touch when he’s landed, and grabs his bags. Saying goodbye to her is harder than saying goodbye to Andy or Seattle or the apartment, but it’s also right. It’s the beginning of both of them finding closure. And that’s all Mike is asking for, all he can see in his future that is so entirely unclear right now.

He arrives in New York City in the early morning hours, the little amount of fitful sleep he managed to catch barely fazing him as he waits for his baggage, desperate to get out there and breathe it all in.

He steps out of the airport and finds himself surrounded by the buildings he has known since he was a child, the city that is _home_. The sun has just come up, painting everything in a bright, almost surreal light that makes him feel like he’s walking in a dream, and it nearly makes him break down right then and there.

He doesn’t, instead getting the next taxi and giving the driver the address that’s been on his mind since he got on the plane.

Harvey’s building sticks out to him as soon as they round the corner. He just stands and looks at it once he’s paid the driver, struggling to put a name on the feeling that’s filling him up at the sight.

It takes him a full minute before he can get his legs to take him inside, past the doorman and the familiar elevators to the door he has been moving towards to ever since he decided to move away from his life in Seattle, his life with Rachel.

He takes a deep breath. He raises his hand, then knocks. Waits.

It’s early, Harvey must still be home. Unless he pulled an all-nighter at the office to deal with some crisis that arose. Unless he spent the night somewhere else. Unless he never came home at all. Unless-

The door opens to reveal a half-dressed Harvey, one of his cuffs still undone, no tie. He must be getting ready to head to work. The details of his appearance jump at Mike, but they fade to the background as soon as he sees Harvey’s face. He looks shell-shocked, staring at Mike with his lips parted and his eyes wide like he’s seeing something impossible, something he didn’t dare to hope for.

Mike feels the exact same way, only that he shouldn’t because he knew he was coming here and he knew he would find Harvey behind that door.

He didn’t know it would shake him this much, though.

Mike keeps staring at him, and he can’t help himself, can’t make himself stop.

It’s been so very, very long since he last saw him.

It feels surreal, looking at him now. Listening to his voice, hearing him speak once he’s shaken off his stupor.

“Mike,” Harvey says. “This is a surprise,” Harvey says. “Come on in,” Harvey says.

What are you doing here? Harvey doesn’t say.

Good old Harvey. Good, wonderful, caring, understanding, challenging, infuriating Harvey.

Mike has missed him so, so much.

The door is wide open. Harvey is looking at him.

Mike goes inside. It’s amazing and terrible how much this place feels like home; always has, still does, more so than Seattle, more than his own damn apartment.

A few things have changed. There’s a painting Mike hasn’t seen before at the end of the hall. A new coffee machine in the kitchen.

Time, it’s undeniable, has passed.

Harvey is behind him, silent, maybe wondering if he should ask, maybe waiting for him to begin himself.

“I can’t do it,” Mike says, turning to him without preamble. “I thought I could but I can’t.”

What a strange opening. What a terrible way to start. Harvey doesn’t seem fazed, however. Harvey just takes his words in, and nods, and allows him to not make sense for the moment.

“Okay,” he just says.

He points at the sofa. He sits down himself, waiting patiently for him to do the same.

“It’s Rachel,” Mike mutters. He needs to start somewhere. He needs to get this out. “You know I love her, so much.”

“Okay,” Harvey says.

He swallows. “But it’s not right.”

Harvey is looking at him, his whole stance screaming hesitancy as he half-reaches for him, almost but not quite touching.

Mike wants to tell him to. Mike wants to yell. Wants to deflate and collapse like a house of cards and reach out and _feel_ him, just feel him there.

_Touch me, touch me, touch me._

Maybe it’s written across his face. Maybe the desire is just as strong for Harvey as it is for him.

One can dream, right?

That’s him. Always the dreamer. The one who gets fixated on impossible ideas and forgets that there’s no way they can come true because life is rarely so kind, rarely that simple.

Harvey touches him.

Mike nearly does collapse at that.

“Mike,” Harvey says.

A sound escapes him that is foreign to his own ears, that he wouldn’t recognize as his own if he hadn’t felt it viscerally.

He missed him _so_ much. How could he ever leave this behind? How could he ever think Rachel was the one for him when a single touch from Harvey has done what a thousand from her haven’t accomplished?

“Oh god, Harvey,” he breathes out, feeling his composure crumble like a fragile ruin. He watches his walls come down unmovingly, helpless in the face of what’s arising behind them.

Because what else is there? Nothing. He packed his bags and left everything behind without a single thought for what’s next, his only goal getting back to New York, back to Harvey.

He’s here now, and there’s nothing else left. He has no idea what to do, where to go, what’s supposed to come next. He’s drifting, no push or pull from any direction except the one right in front of him, still looking at him in silence.

“Everything is different. Nothing is as it was. Nothing is as it should be.”

_Your fault, your fault, your fault._

“I can’t do it anymore. I can’t keep pretending that this is what I want when everything is so wrong that I feel sick all the time. When I can’t go to work without being swamped by regret and I can’t come home without feeling like a fraud and everywhere I go I just feel like I don’t belong.”

“Everywhere?” Harvey asks.

Mike nods. “The work isn’t what I thought it would be. Seattle sure as hell isn’t either. I jumped headfirst into a life that holds nothing for me, and that’s what I have now. It’s all I have. Nothing.”

“You don’t have nothing,” Harvey says. It’s gentle. Not dismissive, just patient, a reminder to bring him back to reality.

Mike looks at him.

“You have so much, Mike. You have a life. You have friends. You have a future, no matter what or where it is.” He smiles, a little small and sad around the edges. “For what it’s worth, you have me.”

Mike wants to laugh. For what it’s worth? It might just be everything, as far as he’s concerned.

He breathes past the tightness in his throat. “What do I do now, Harvey?”

Harvey shifts.

“What do you want to do?”

Go back to the way things were. Turn back time, undo the damage he inflicted upon every single aspect of his life.

He only wanted what was best. He thought he was doing what was best.

“I want to forget about the mistakes I made,” Mike whispers.

That’s what’s at the heart of it, he supposes. He’s always thinking about them, always aware of the things he did wrong in the back of his mind.

He just wants to forget for once. He just wants to rest.

Harvey says nothing. Mike doesn’t blame him for being at a loss; he’s intimately familiar with the feeling.

“I know I can’t undo them, but I wish- I just want to pretend that I didn’t make them for a while.” He gives Harvey a pleading look, shaking his head. “Can we just pretend that I never made the decision to go away? That I didn’t marry someone I should have seen wasn’t right for me long time ago? That I never left?”

It’s foolish, pointless. It won’t change a damn thing. But Mike is tired. He’s so fucking tired.

“You did leave,” Harvey says.

Mike’s shoulders sag, the air escaping him quietly.

Alright then. That’s fair, he supposes. If Harvey wants to break him down, he can do nothing but let him.

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t come back.”

Harvey’s voice cuts through the chaos in his mind, the words echoing in his head before he processes them.

Mike stops. He stops thinking, stops struggling against the tightness of his chest, stops _fighting_.

He wants to, so, so badly. He wants to come back.

He could.

He can.

Harvey is right. Nothing is set in stone. He may not be able to turn back time, but he can still come back.

He can come home.

Mike blinks at Harvey. He’s just looking at him, watching, waiting until he has sorted out his thoughts.

He’s still there, like Mike never left him, like he hasn’t been the worst friend in the history of the world.

“I love you,” he says. It’s so easy all of a sudden.

Harvey freezes, the change in his stance miniscule but undeniable, the tension in his shoulders speaking volumes.

Mike swallows.

“I’m not- fuck, this is going to ruin everything between us. But I love you, Harvey. It’s why Rachel and I didn’t work out. Why I couldn’t stay in Seattle. Why leaving New York has proven to be the biggest mistake of my life, and you know I’ve made my fair share of those.” He takes a deep breath. “I don’t expect anything from you, I want you to know that. I don’t expect you to feel the same way. I just… needed to tell you. I needed you to know.”

It’s true, he realizes. He can’t undo the things he has done to Harvey, all the ways he hurt him over the years, but he can let him know how much he means to him, how much he’s cared for. Harvey pretends to be hard, but Mike knows better, knows that there’s a softness underneath that needs care and affection like everyone else. He deserves that. He deserves to know that he’s loved.

Harvey’s chest rises with a deep breath, a complicated expression on his face Mike can’t begin to interpret, but it’s not uncomfortable, or appalled, or anything that would make him worry that he made the wrong call again. No, it gives him… hope.

“I do,” he says. “Not… not know. But feel the same way. I do, Mike. I’ve done so for a very long time.”

The ground shifts beneath Mike’s feet even though he’s standing absolutely, perfectly still.

Harvey loves him too. Harvey _loves_ him.

 _I do_.

The words are more significant here, now, than they felt coming from Rachel at the altar, and Mike is paralyzed in the face of them before he can get himself to move, much less speak.

“You love me?” he asks dumbly, and then shakes his head, annoyed at himself by the stupid question.  “I mean, of course you do, but- like that?”

Harvey laughs quietly, the sound small and hesitant and full of disbelieving joy. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Like that.”

Mike stares at him in wonder. Harvey is looking back, a smile spreading on his lips that is just a little unsure, and suddenly Mike _needs_ to know what it tastes like.

“Can I kiss you?” he blurts out, part of him staggered by the question, by his own boldness, the other part just desperate to hear the answer to it.

Harvey laughs again, his smile growing. “Of course you can,” he says. “You can kiss me whenever you feel like it, as far as I’m concerned.”

Mike slides closer on the sofa until they are only inches apart, his heart rate picking up considerably at the sudden proximity.

“That’s gonna be often,” he warns, because it’s not fair to send Harvey into this unprepared, but he just chuckles _again_ , and Mike tries to remember the last time he saw him this happy but he’s not sure he ever has, and he vows to himself right then and there that he is going to do whatever it takes to put that expression on him as often as he can for the rest of his life.

“That’s the opposite of an issue,” Harvey says, and then takes matters into his own hands and closes the distance between them.

The air leaves Mike’s lungs quietly.

So this is what it’s supposed to be like.

Harvey’s lips are soft and warm and entirely too familiar on his, an instant recognition establishing itself at the first contact like a silent, _oh, there you are._

Mike didn’t even know he was looking for something, but he knows that he has found it as they sit there and just kiss. It’s chaste, but with clear intent, with determination and so much raw emotion behind it that Mike has no idea how he could ever doubt that Harvey loves him the same way.

It’s a greeting, and assurance, and getting to know each other all over again after all the time they spent apart, and it makes him feel so much at once that he can barely breathe.

Mike can’t help the sound forming somewhere in his throat, the smallest fraction of his urgency and desperation to get closer to him. He raises a hand to cup Harvey’s cheek, marveling at the unfamiliar shape of his jaw as he tilts his head, chasing the sensation that Harvey is happy to provide him with.

They stay close even when they eventually part, neither of them letting the kiss turn into something other than what it is for now. It’s too soon for that, it’s not the right time. Mike is still raw from the losses he had to take, and Harvey needs to know that this isn’t the only reason he’s here before they take this any further.

Mike draws back at that thought, searching his face.

“Wait. You know this is real, right? That I mean it? This isn’t some sort of impulsive reaction to my recent breakup or, or, I don’t know, a last resort. You’re not my rebound guy.”

“I know.”

Mike sucks in his lip, brushing his thumb across Harvey’s. “Good. Because I meant every word I said, and every second of that kiss, and it’s important to me that you’re aware of that.”

Harvey nods. “It’s gonna take some getting used to, granted, but I know you would never use me like that. I trust you. You said you’ve felt like this for a long time. So have I. And even if you had only just figured it out, I’m just happy that you did at all.”

“Me too. Believe me. But I still want you to know how I feel.” He takes a deep breath. “I want there to be no secrets between us, not anymore. I want you to always know what’s going on with me. No more hiding the truth. I’ve had enough of that for a lifetime.”

“I can imagine.” Harvey takes his hand, giving it a firm squeeze. Mike smiles when he doesn’t let go. “And I’m on board with that. No secrets sound good to me.”

“Great.”

Mike takes a deep breath, biting his lip. “So what now?”

“I don’t know,” Harvey answers with a small smile. Mike nods in acknowledgement; appreciating his honesty. “But we have time to figure it out. Together.”

“Now _that_ sounds good to _me_ ,” Mike says, then halts. “Wait. Now that you mention it, don’t you have to get to the office?”

Harvey snorts. “If you think I’d leave this apartment for anything less than a fire right now, you’re sorely mistaken. The firm will survive without me.”

“You sure?” Mike jokes.

“It survived without _you_ for months now,” Harvey points out. “I think they’ll manage. Although…” he lifts an eyebrow. “We can do something about that, if you want?”

Does he? Does he want to come back, even if it means dealing with Robert Zane on a daily basis?

Following his train of thought, Harvey adds, “Or you start over somewhere new. Or we could go solo, if you’d rather do that. Just you and me. I’m open for discussions. Nothing’s off the table.”

“Nothing?” Mike asks with a small smile.

“Nothing,” Harvey agrees. “Not for as long as you’re here with me.”

“Well, we can definitely make sure of that,” Mike says. “In fact, I insist on it.”

Harvey smiles at him, and Mike wonders how he could ever go through life without realizing how absolutely vital it is to see that expression on him.

At least he got there in the end. And the end, apparently, is only the beginning for them.

He thought he’d reached the point of no return when he realized things with Rachel were going nowhere, that the job he’d dropped everything for was so far from what he’d imagined. But he was wrong. He can’t undo what happened, but he _can_ return. He can always come back. And Harvey is right here, waiting to welcome him home.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy belated New Year! So this fic wasn't really planned, but I've been spending a lot of time on Harvey's emotional state after s7 in different stories, and at one point I started wondering about Mike's side of things and what his perspective on them would be like... enter this story.
> 
> Alright, you know the drill - I'm not a native speaker and concrit re: language/content is always appreciated, as are any comments you may wanna leave me! This is your chance to make a gal happy during exam season ;)  
> PS: Just to let you know, a new fic is in the making but I can already tell it's gonna be a long one (and multi-chaptered), so it will be a while yet until I can start posting that (I'm thinking around springtime). Until then! x


End file.
